Arousal hits me fast, so I turn away before my body reacts and embarrasses me again. "The ferry's still down. They're saying maybe it’ll be working tomorrow."
We're going to spend another night here. Restraint's usually my superpower. I've lived for years working out all day, eating a low carb high protein diet, abstaining from liquor and women. All in the name of being the best defender I can be.
But I suppress a groan at the idea of spending another night here without touching Scout. My stupid brain won't shut up about how she smells like lavender and sunshine. I think I’ve gone way past want at this point; I need to find out if she tastes as good as she smells.
I bet she does.
Scout stretches, unaware of my perpetual state of horniness. Her shirt inches up, revealing a tantalizing strip of midriff. I jerk my eyes away, angry at myself.
"We'll make the best of it," she says.
"I went downstairs and grabbed a tray." I hand her a mug of coffee and our fingers brush. The jolt from contact is immediate. I pull back too fast and grip my own mug until my knuckles go pale. She swallows. I think she feels the spark too. Her breath hitches, but she doesn't comment and neither do I.
Instead, I blurt out, "Do you want cream? For your coffee?"
Her lips curl up in a smile and she shakes her head, taking a sip of the dark brew. She hums appreciatively. "This is really good."
Breakfast waits on the dresser. Muffins, fruit, cream for the coffee. I take the armchair near the window while Scout settles on the bed. She bites a piece of fruit and licks the juice from her fingers. I keep looking away because every movement makes me want her.
And then I wish I could flog myself. The last thing Scout needs is her horny roommate leering at her.
After we finish eating, Scout showers and emerges from the bathroom in the same clothes. An oversized Seattle Havoc sweatshirt and a pair of soft dark gray Havoc joggers.
"I was thinking we should go for a run. I need to get out of here and move my body."
I study her face for a moment. She's flushed from the warmth of the shower, and she won't quite meet my eyes. She needs space from whatever's building between us. I understand the feeling too well. "You want to run in this weather?"
"Walk. Maybe jog. I'm antsy."
Movement might take the edge off the restless pool of energy simmering under my skin. I grab my boots without arguing. "I don't have running shoes, but I'm fine with a trek outside."
Cold air hits hard when we step out the inn's front door. It wakes me up and cuts through the leftover heat from being too close to her in that room. Snow covers the island, softening everything. There are no more hard lines. Just a blanket of soft-looking snow flowing as far as the eye can see. Scout walks beside me, struggling to keep up with my brisk pace. I find myself slowing my steps to match hers. The path we take heads straight down toward the beach, our boots crunching over frozen ground.
"It's strange seeing you quiet," she says. "You usually mutter threats under your breath when you walk."
I give her a look. "I don't do that."
She smirks at me. "You do. It's comforting in a weird way."
The idea that she watches me that closely settles somewhere I don't want to touch. "Didn't realize my charm had layers."
"Somebody's got jokes." Her smile is dazzling. "You have layers. People just don't look long enough to find them."
She says it with an easy certainty that shakes me more than it should. I look away before she sees the effect.
The beach opens in front of us. Dark rocks piled high with snow dot the sand. Slow waves bang sluggishly against the shore. Scout moves toward the rocks, drawn to the view. "The air smells incredible. It's so fresh."
"Watch your footing." I point out a particularly jagged rock. "It's slick."
"You're so bossy. It just so happens I grew up on the beach, so I know how to..."
Her foot hits algae. She slides, ankle rolling, pain flashing across her face. I reach her before she fully hits the ground, wrapping an arm around her waist, and tug her upright.
I breathe, "Scout."
"It's okay." Her voice is thin from pain. She flattens her palms against my chest, bracing and trying to regain her equilibrium. "I just need a second."
She tries to put weight on her foot. Her knee buckles and she sags against me. A surge of fear hits hard and fast. I growl, "For fuck's sake, Scout. Don't move."
